


our hearts are too ruthless to break (let's start fires for heaven's sake)

by moonsandstar_s



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:03:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s





	our hearts are too ruthless to break (let's start fires for heaven's sake)

_**so let’s be sinners to be saints  
and let’s be winners by mistake  
the world may disapprove  
but my world is only you  
and if we’re sinners then it feels like heaven to me** _

_**\- lauren aquilina, sinners** _

/ / /

_“One.  
You see her for the first time and she’ll walk right past you like you are a crack in the wall and she is a skyscraper with her head so high in the air and when you can’t sleep you’ll think about the way her eyes strayed into yours for a moment too long before breaking away and disappearing into the crowd of people._

Something magnetic keeps your eyes glued to her dark, retreating silhouette.

She glances over: her eyes are the color of a murky amber river after a long winter, dappled with black and chips of gold, frosted, her face haunted. She’s one with the crowd and she’s entirely seperate at the same time: they are words, and she is an unopened book, full of stories, of heartbreak, deities and unspoken phrases.

You do not know her, of course, and something goes stumbling and then into free-fall in your stomach. A connection flows between the two of you and you can hear LaFontaine speaking to you but you remain: frozen, sustained by the light in her face.

Her eyes linger for a heartbeat- you know, you feel it, yours is thumping like war drums- before she pitches forward and then she’s gone into the crowd.

/ / /

_Two.  
She’ll look both ways before telling you she loves you under her breath and when she hugs you her eyes scan the empty room as if the walls had eyes and ears and mouths that could give you away._

She almost died and so your fingers touch her like she’s made of dust. Like she could fade back into wishing thoughts and grief. Lightning turns her to a marble statue and she’s staring through half-lidded eyes, her breaths uneven. You can still taste her, like fire, like a storm, like a home, on your lips. _This is the words of symphonies,_ she would say. This is who we _are._ You are no more substantial than the stars, a speck in the vast universe, a blip in the time she has experienced, yet she loves you anyways.

She says _I am in love with you_ first: shaking, whispered though trembling lips, nervous, rustling her arms, alabaster shoulderblades. _I am so very in love with you_ : and you almost see her as a bird, wings shattered, and the silver bars of moonlight makes her ethereal as she cradles you closely in the alive dark.

She was an angel once, before the little girl she used to be dragged her down: she was infallible light, a twisted crucifix, falling into oblivion and death to save you.

And by some miracle, she is not lost to time: she’s here, safe, in your arms.

/ / /

_Three.  
When she’s curled up on your lap shaking with mismatched breaths you’ll wonder how someone who looked like she carried mountains on her shoulders could crumble so easily in your arms like the tornado in her mind finally hit her and knocked her off her feet._

 

You both will remember vividly when she died: the gold exploding like a shower of heaven in the black, the slightest gleam of boots, two black eyes gazing up, terrified— like sharp commas, pauses between decisions, pale hands outstretched like wings, pleading for help.

You were across that cavern in two strides, but then, to you, it felt like a lifetime, as if some part of you had known that you would be replaying this scene in your sleep for the rest of your life over and over again, like a dream where no matter how fast you run, the monster is always faster.

She’s not dead, now, beside you; but gazing at the still features of her face, calm in sleep, you remember being under the Lustig and watching with the strident awareness of the damned as she sacrificed her forever for your now.

You had collapsed at the edge of that chasm as she disappeared. You had stopped straining your eyes against the blackness. You had remembered.

And now curled under the gently breathing night, with this girl that you are so very in love with, you wonder how you ever could have considered not fighting for her, how you did not realize a part of you was missing until you met her.

/ / /

Four.  
In half-light she’ll run her fingers over your arms like she is reading words carved into your skin, binding them together into the perfect metaphor and you’ll hear it playback in your head at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of her.

She grins around the sharp edges of her fangs a lot; she likes to always be touching you- a holding hand, arm draped over your shoulders, foreheads brushing. As if to make up for the times you lost. The future that will inevitably separate you.

You kiss. You kiss a lot. And you know how it feels to her to have too much metal in your mouth and too many shadows in your chest. But you try to chase them away: with light to temper her darkness.

And when she whimpers in the midst of demons and nightmares, you will be there to bring her back.

/ / /

_Five.  
You’ll find a safe haven on rooftops and abandoned rooms where she’ll set fire to your insides with hushed breaths between kisses planted perfectly on your lips and make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with wild flames while your body is made of paper._

 

And so your relationship blossoms, emotionally and physically, from the dorm to the mountains to the mansion. After the solarium, your friends learn soon not to walk into any room that you have disappeared in. You learn about each other. You fight, you talk, you learn what it is to fall in more love every day. She helps you grow and in turn you assuage her fears: of Maman, dark coffins, of Ell and Will, of the life she left behind to come with you. She may not be the picture of heroic but she is brave, amazing, and you tell her as much.

One day, you offhandedly are making comments about how she needs to replenish her blood supply- you don’t want a reoccurrence of the nine day starvation- and neither of you have said those three words outside of playful teasing. And she looks up, eyebrows furrowed, from a worn old book written by Albert Camus and she stares at you. Her face is full of a strange emotion.

“I love you,” she says softly.

“Well, I’d sure hope so.” Your heart is beating a tattoo against your ribs. “Unless you’re just with me for this awesome disposition.”

“No…” she rakes a hand through messy dark curls, tossing them back. “I’m _in_ love with you.”

You lock the door, aware of how precarious the whole situation is, and her eyes flash and she smirks before sauntering over.

She kisses you soft and slow and fire stirs in your stomach.

And when you’re one that night, together under the stars, she gasps _I love you I love you_ as she comes down from her high; you know then and there what it is to be irrevocably, unmistakably in love with someone.

/ / /

 

_Six.  
You’ll stare God right in the eye and tell Him that if loving her was a sin then you want no place in heaven with Him because the way her lips fit perfectly on your neck is a type of paradise you’ll never forget._

Because you love Carmilla, and she loves you.

And that is enough.


End file.
